Silence (20 page)

‘And when these officers or security agents committed murder a blind eye was turned?’

‘Of course not. However, in the atmosphere then, when it felt as though everything was falling apart, those of us in command and our contacts in the judiciary and media had a duty not to undermine public confidence in the security forces. In those days, secrecy wasn’t a dirty word, it meant discretion. It was thought that some things were better kept away from public scrutiny.’

‘So the conspiracy theories are true. There was a committee in regular contact at the highest levels of society.’

‘No. But we knew who our friends were. Those in positions of authority who understood our predicament.’

‘And with their help you kept the truth about the murder triangle secret.’

‘Yes. A secret that was a bulwark to the policing of a society hovering on the brink of violence. Remember, we were only trying to do what was best for this country in the long run.’ He leaned back again. ‘Being loyal to one’s country and to law and order is not a criminal offence. Despite what people think nowadays.’ He smiled at Daly. ‘But of course, you’ve heard all this before. This is nothing new.’

It was and it wasn’t. Not to this critical extent. Not to the nihilistic point where the very people paid to uphold law and order were being protected as they propelled the country towards civil war.

‘There is another theory,’ said Daly. ‘That there was an orchestrated campaign within intelligence circles to murder innocent Catholics.’

‘Why would anyone devise such a plan?’

‘Because it was the only way to detach the IRA from its bedrock of support. A cohort within the intelligence services wanted to prove that the IRA could not protect the wider Catholic community. The objective required a robust sectarian murder campaign. In a warped way, the more innocent the Catholic victim the better. Hence my mother’s murder.’ Daly stared intensely at the major, but Hannon gave nothing away. ‘There must have been an order given at the highest levels of government or within the military. The pattern of murders, the cover-ups within the police force, the judiciary and the media. Something sinister is begging to be discovered.’

‘Then discover it.’ The major’s voice had turned cold again.

‘I don’t have to. One man already has. A priest. He spent years struggling to find the connections. He wrote thousands of words about the similarities between these murders. He was on a mission to expose the entire rotten system until he died in mysterious circumstances close to the Irish border. His name was Father Aloysius Walsh.’

Hannon did not react to the mention of the name. He seemed to be expecting it. He rose, unlocked a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a slender file.

‘I don’t have any information on your Father Walsh,’ he said. ‘But I do have this on his assistant, Jacqueline Pryce. I’d assumed she was accompanying you here today, so I took the liberty of preparing myself with a little background reading. This is a copy of an MI5 file that was dispatched to me by courier this morning. It concerns your little reporter friend and her involvement with Walsh. She must be flattered to have warranted the attention.’

He sat down and opened the file.

‘How well do you know her?’ he asked Daly.

‘I’ve only just met her.’

‘Did she mention that she’s married to a former IRA man, Eddie McKenna, a Republican dissident who doesn’t subscribe to the peace process? Gives her persona a little more edge, doesn’t it?’ He stared at Daly. ‘I have some background here about her employment record, and the people she has been talking to in the past few months.’

‘Background?’ relied Daly. ‘What about this for background? Walsh was researching an incident that took place in Palestine in 1947. The murder of a Jewish youth by a Major George Hannon. Why don’t you tell me what you know about this man who shares your name?’

Hannon stared at Daly, seemingly fascinated by the detective’s digression.

‘I’ve examined the military records,’ said Daly. ‘He was your father.’

‘You’re correct. But that was seventy years ago, when he worked for the Palestine police service. You know that he returned from his stint there a hero. He was awarded several medals for bravery. For his service in Oman, too. If you like, I can let you see them.’

Daly did not respond.

‘But I fail to see what relevance his military record has to your investigation. My father had no involvement with the modern-day Troubles. What you should be concentrating on is the foreground.’

‘But he passed something else on to you as well as his medals. A strategy, a controversial military theory on countering insurgency in a native population. Walsh tracked its use in Palestine, Oman and Uganda. It was his legacy to you.’

‘I see where you’re going now, Inspector.’ Hannon sat upright. ‘If you’re suggesting that I or my father had anything to do with Walsh’s murder triangle then you will have my lawyers to answer to.’

‘I’ll pass your concerns on to Special Branch. They’ll have to look into this, like everything else in the case.’

At the mention of Special Branch, Hannon visibly relaxed.

‘Make sure to keep them properly informed. They might save you from a serious lapse of judgement.’

Daly got up to leave. ‘One more thing before I go. Walsh was due to meet a man called Hegarty at the hotel the night he died. Do you know anything about him?

Hannon grimaced.

‘He’s a murderer, by anyone’s definition.’

He went on to explain that Hegarty was a highly placed mole within the IRA working for British Intelligence.

‘I recruited him many years ago when he was a young man. Unfortunately, since the peace process he has gone to great lengths trying to smear his former employers. He has stirred up a storm of rumour and conjecture that will tarnish the security forces for years. From what I understand, Walsh swallowed his lies and came back for more. Be warned, Inspector, Hegarty is ruthless enough to kill anyone in his path. For the last forty years he has operated in a vacuum without any political or judicial controls.’

‘He was also a British Intelligence agent,’ said Daly. ‘On this occasion, you’re not showing much loyalty to an old comrade.’

‘I’m only telling you this because I believe he’s one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met. To make matters worse, his life is under threat in a way it never was before. Republicans know there was a mole in their midst. They won’t stop till they hunt him out.’

Hannon walked Daly to the door.

‘Do you know his whereabouts?’ he asked Daly.

‘I have no idea.’

‘Now is the time for him to leave Northern Ireland. I’ve argued with him over the years, begged him to emigrate to the US or Australia. But he’s hell-bent on stirring up trouble. You must warn him.’

‘As I said, I don’t know where he is.’

‘But you have some means of contacting him?’

‘No,’ lied Daly.

‘Well, if by some chance Hegarty gets in touch with you, I want you to contact your colleagues in Special Branch, immediately. Your life may be in great danger.’

Daly said goodbye to him at the door. Hannon handed him a copy of the MI5 file on Pryce.

‘I wish you luck in your search for your mother’s killers,’ said Hannon. ‘However, I fear that you will discover only traces of the truth, brutal bits of information here and there, a few obscure connections, but the whole story will remained invisible, fragmented. Especially if you have people like Pryce and Hegarty as your guides.’

‘My eyes are wide open, believe me, and my suspicions on the highest alert,’ said Daly and left.

Driving back to Tyrone, Daly imagined that a dark-coloured car was keeping pace behind him on the motorway. Was he being followed? It was difficult to tell on such a busy road. He cut off on to the minor roads around Lough Neagh. It was easier to single out a tail on this empty maze of lanes that he knew like the back of his hands. He glanced in his rear mirror and saw the car swing into view. For several miles, the car kept its distance as Daly traversed crossroads and junctions, until he came across a police checkpoint in the middle of nowhere. He slowed right down when the checkpoint was a hundred yards away. He could see the group of police officers standing in the middle of the road with their guns, waiting for his car to approach. They seemed to be doing nothing but guarding the emptiness of the road behind. Two of them were wearing blue overalls. Why the overalls? Was it to keep the forensics clean? A sweat broke out on Daly’s forehead thinking of what the officers might be planning. The snub noses of their guns were pointed at the ground but their eyes stared hard at his car, noting the registration. He reversed the vehicle at speed and turned off on to a narrow road. He hit the pedal hard, and drove straight to police headquarters. If a speed camera had caught him on those twisting by-roads, plunging by derelict-looking farms on one side and flooded fields on the other, he would without question have lost his licence.

Fealty appeared to be waiting for him as soon as he entered headquarters.

‘We’ve had complaints, Daly, about your little visits.’ The Special Branch inspector radiated barely controlled anger.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You can’t go knocking on doors and barging right in like the old days. Especially at the home of a high-ranking former intelligence agent.’

‘How do you propose I should conduct my investigation?’

‘By sharing information and strategies with your colleagues. We work in an open-plan environment these days. You can’t keep skulking and hiding in back offices or your car, and operating like a maverick.’

‘I have questions that need answered. I need to find out what happened all those years ago, and uncover the links between Walsh’s death and the murder of McClintock in the hotel room.’

There was a shift in Fealty’s voice, a deepening of his anger.

‘Remember you’re a detective in the new police service of Northern Ireland. You shouldn’t let what happened in the past cloud your better judgement.’

‘Happened in the past,’ replied Daly. ‘You make it sound as though what happened to my mother is over and done with, but it’s not. It’s not the past, at all. It’s my front line. It’s where my detective career was headed on the day I began. I’ve no choice in the matter. I can no more ignore what happened all those years ago than climb out of my own skin.’

‘How can you be sure there are any links between what happened to your mother and Walsh’s death?’

‘What is there to be uncertain of?’

‘Why would anyone want to kill Walsh and make it look like an accident?’

‘That’s the crux of the puzzle. Who would want to kill an elderly priest? And who would want to shoot another man in his hotel bedroom? I can only assume that Walsh uncovered something that became too dangerous.’

‘And you suspect the major of involvement. What leads do you have?’

‘Right now, I’ve none, except that his name was mentioned in Walsh’s research.’

‘Who else have you spoken to?’

‘A woman called Ciara O’Brien. She’s a niece of one of the murder triangle victims.’

Fealty sighed.

‘It’s been more than thirty years since those murders took place. What could be so dangerous about that time that threatens a man’s life now? Haven’t you noticed, for Christ’s sake? We have a peace process; the paramilitaries have ended their bloody campaigns. No one wants to rock the boat. What ghosts can emerge into the light now?’

‘What do you know of a former spy called Daniel Hegarty?’

Fealty’s face darkened.

‘He was an informer within the IRA. Unfortunately, he wants to keep the war going. We believe he was trying to manipulate Walsh into believing there was a grand conspiracy. He has gone to great lengths to smear Special Branch and his former employers.’ Fealty paused briefly before continuing. ‘You should know that we’re launching a full-scale manhunt for Mr Hegarty. We believe he killed McClintock.’ He looked sharply at Daly. ‘Do you have any leads on Hegarty? What about Walsh’s mobile phone? Any sign yet?’

‘No,’ lied Daly. ‘I’ll let you know when I have something worth pursuing.’

Daly noticed that his evasions were disturbing Fealty, who stepped up close to his face. The Special Branch inspector wanted to push his point across as firmly as he could.

‘Listen to me, Daly. Father Walsh spun a web of rumour and suspicion for himself. He went looking for evidence to confirm his fears and prejudices, and he found it among disgruntled informers, alcoholic ex-police officers, journalists with an eye on the big scoop.’ Fealty’s thin lips carried an ugly sense of threat. ‘They fed him with what he wanted to hear – in the end, his conspiracy theories entangled him like a snug little web. He wove it for his ageing mind, wrapping himself in thicker and thicker strands of darkness. That night he crashed his car, something at the checkpoint spooked him. It was not the fault of the police officers, who were just trying to do their job, as officers have always done in this country. Walsh misconstrued something he saw, or saw something that was not there. It was a bad habit he had developed. In the end it killed him.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind the next time a police checkpoint tries to stop me.’

Fealty did not react to Daly’s comment. He nodded and made his way back up the stairs. Daly only stayed long enough in the building to check if any police patrols had radioed in the details of his car and his evasion of a checkpoint. The fact that there were no such reports heightened his suspicion that something sinister had been arranged on that lonely lough-shore road.

He made his way back to the entrance. He suddenly felt oppressed by the building and its sprawling size. He’d had enough of open-plan offices and long corridors. Part of him wanted to return to his old detective’s life and his former shell, the fortified police station at Derrylee. He scuttled out of the doors. He missed the old smoke-filled incident rooms, the sectarian banter and the chat about drinking expeditions, trifling things compared to all this high-powered talk of a new police force for a new Northern Ireland. He wanted to hear the voices of those old RUC officers, sit down at the same table with them, look into their eyes and laugh at their grim jokes, even if he did not share their religion or political beliefs, and would always be regarded as an outsider. However, that was akin to talking and laughing with a circle of ghosts, among whom his mother’s murderers might lurk. He could never partake of that world now. He could see those old RUC officers in his mind’s eye, getting up and quietly vanishing.